Monday, August 01, 2005

One Percenters.

I keep getting awfully close to feeling like I have to apologize for not writing anything for a few days, when I just saunter past at midnight and fling something tacky at the wall just to see what will stick.

1% of me thinks that those of you who swing by for a visit and are greeted with a week-old post, are wishing with fingers crossed that something special is brewing, and if only you check back a couple times during the day, surely you can get a fresh steamy helping of something that you don't usually associate with "fresh" and "steamy." You slam your left-click on the Spanktuary link in your favorites, hoping that if there isn't something new of value to spend your valuable currency called time, at least I've taken note of the telepathic tantrum and may try a little harder tomorrow to satisfy your fix with something that you just can't buy in one of those mega blog-marts. You swear for three tomorrow's that if something doesn't change tomorrow, you'll get my manager and demand an apology. I manage me, with varying degrees of success. And my apologies? I'm all out. That's why God made girlfriends.

The other 99% of me knows that you swing by out of sympathy, kind of like that tip jar at Starbucks. You know I don't really deserve it, but somewhere inside you feel like you may get the good stuff when the karma cart comes by next time.